A/N: Bonjour! I am posting this story, that you might recognize, it's from a drabble I wrote a long time ago, and I wanted to turn it into a 3-shot, so you have the first part here, and the rest is almost finished!

I'd like to thank my amazing beta, Kelly (aka garglyswoof on tumblr) who helped a looooot and taught me some American expression aha!

I hope you'll enjoy it!

(Of course the characters are not mine otherwise TVD won't be what it is nowadays (everlasting sigh of deception))

Caroline's passion for food started when she was six years old, her snoring father next to her. She was curled at his side, her eyes transfixed on the melting cheese. An Italian chef taught how to make real carbonara pasta, his voice, thick with accent, only fueling her imagination with good pizzas, cheese and mouthwatering pasta. She had begged her father to try the recipe.

Alas, he left them for Steven 3 months later. But that's another story.

Caroline didn't pursue her cooking career, realizing she was way better at eating than actually cooking anything. She loved to cook, but she never could go beyond the recipe – call her a control freak – hence why she always was looking for novelties.

Years later, she became an event planner, and now she has multiple contacts among the best caterers of New York.

She met Tyler. Good looking American boy with a passion for the Bourse, stockholders, and money in general. Not cooking, unfortunately.

Caroline hated to be dragged to his business meetings. She hated to hear him talk about whatever company, scandal or CEO held his interest at the moment. It was incredibly boring to her and she was ready to tell him she didn't feel well to avoid another uninteresting dinner with Mr. Saltzman when he told her he had a reservation at The Original.

The Original aka the fanciest and most popular restaurant right now in New York.

Her favorite. She drooled every time she passed in front of it in her way to work, already smelling the delightful recipes prepared in the kitchen. She went there as many times as she could, for a quick salad at lunch, or their spicy Loup for dinner.

Thankfully she planned the maître d's wedding, otherwise she'd still be on the waiting list.

And she would have missed her favorite dessert. Crème brulee, with French Vanilla.

How to explain? How the caramel cracks under the spoon, and how tender the crème is underneath?

She suddenly felt a deep interest in stockholders and Wall Street.

Alaric Saltzman and his wife never held her interest. They were nice people, but boring as they were only interested by the future of the economy and the last baseball game. Still, they were nice. Though Caroline knew, as soon as Tyler started talking about the Eagles, that she would end up staying in her corner as the trophy girlfriend. She hated that, the feeling of being some sort of prize Tyler Lockwood could show around. But she complied because he was a nice guy, a bit self-centered, maybe, but she couldn't deny that she had feelings for him. He was good to her, they'd been together for a long time now. Her fear of being alone started this relationship, when she was the popular cheerleader who couldn't stand the idea of being single, and it had turned into a good, stable, union between the two of them that felt a little past its shelf-life. Stale…

Jenna was a lovely person, sweet and smiling, though Caroline could only hear once the story of how her daughter had lost her first tooth, and what the tooth fairy brought her. Caroline was quickly bored.

So she read the menu, over and over to decide while sipping her cocktail – sex on the beach - she had just wanted to see Tyler's face when she ordered that one.

Blablabla, stock exchange, economy, blablabla, Nina's tooth, blablabla.

Caroline loved to discuss and talk, for sure, but she didn't have the patience or even the desire to try to fit into the conversation. Especially when Tyler's face distorted every time she expressed her opinion (Republican vs. Democrats, the everlasting debate), like an implicit 'be-pretty-and-don't-talk' that she absolutely loathed.

When they started talking about the effect of Obamacare on the American economy, and Caroline thought about planting the silver fork in her carotid, a waitress dressed professionally in black and hair tied in a perfect bun arrived at their table to take their orders.

Of course, Tyler picked the same dish as always, Cajun chicken, earning an eyeroll from Caroline.

She always chose different dishes, life is about discoveries, right?

Caroline hadn't had the chance to live in a wealthy family, her taste for gastronomy asserting with age and a certain financial independence. She discovered the joy of good cuisine when she was able to pay for it, when she was able to afford an expensive but delicious dinner.

Unlike Tyler whose boredom accentuated with his family's wealth.

It was her turn to order, finally.

"So, I am going to take the tartare of scallops as starter", Caroline took a last look at the menu and finally asked, "and what is the chef's recommendation?"

"As a main course, we can recommend the chef's special soufflé or the saddle of lamb rubbed with garlic and cumin with yogurt sauce, accompanied with a Provencal tian."

"I am going to take the lamb. Thanks."

As Caroline gave the server a smile, Tyler turned his head with a lifted eyebrow, silently reprimanding her for ordering that much food, when a good trophy girlfriend would be satisfied with a light salad. She rolled her eyes even harder and he huffed, annoyed by her manners, or her lack of. Well, sorry for not being born with a golden spoon up her ass.

The dessert.

It's the last bite of the night, the moment when you know if you had a good time or not.

After an amazing starter, lemony fresh scallops on a bed of tomatoes, and a delicious main course with a perfectly cooked lamb, she could finally eat her favorite dessert.

The Original's crème brulee, with French vanilla.

She licked her lips as she prepared her ritual – like a tradition.

She grabbed the spoon, and cracked the caramel with the back of it, creating brown icebergs on a sea of vanilla cream, lifeless pieces of wood on the creamy sand or whatever metaphor you want, it's the ritual.

A spoon of vanilla cream with bits of caramel, the caramel contrasted by the fondness of the cream, and Caroline's a goner.

How could you love a dessert this much?

She doesn't remember, but she thinks she might have moaned at some point when she noticed the Saltzman's and Tyler's eyes on her.

"What?"

But she didn't care. She could kill for this.

She had stopped paying attention to the discussion, she just kept sipping wine and eating bread (delicious homemade bread) and looking at the other customers and their orders. There was a couple next to them sharing their food and Caroline couldn't help but blush in front of such a cute display of affection – even if she hated sharing her own food.

She was happy to be able to live this kind of moment, the temporary happiness when you dip into a vanilla cream and the caramel crunch under your teeth.

She made sure there was nothing left.

A last cup of coffee, and it was time to leave as they were one of the few tables still present.

Caroline took a deep breath outside, rubbing her belly almost theatrically as her stomach was deliciously full.

"What about a last drink, Lockwood?" Alaric Saltzman asked, an arm on his shoulder. His wife had already left to go back to their children.

"I am not sure…" Tyler hesitated, looking at her.

Caroline smiled slyly, "Go ahead, Tyler, I am going to take a cab and head home." She was not in the mood to be the third wheel to whatever might happen between the two of them, and she was sure Alaric wanted a woman-less date anyway.

"See, your girl agrees, let's go!" Alaric stated, clearly already tipsy.

"You sure?"

"Sure," she answered with a smile.

Tyler and Alaric left, the latter staggering and the former giving her one last look.

She gave him one last smile before waving at him.

Caroline let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. It was always like that on his business dates. Boring, but great food.

She turned around to look at The Original restaurant façade as the lights started to fade.

She'd tried to make the same crème brulee. In vain. Whoever did it had a gift or something. Or a very well-kept secret.

She raised her hand to capture a taxi driver's attention, but halfway in its upwards course her hand hit something hard and complaining –

"Bloody hell!" A grunt voice complained.

It hadn't been a great day for him. First, his cook responsible for desserts was sick, second of all, his sister harassed him to accompany her to whatever popular event in town, and last but not least, he had woken up with a filthy hangover.

He needed fresh air after a difficult night, not a bleeding nose.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry," Caroline exclaimed, looking at the man bent double, his hand on his nose, "Ok, it's bleeding," Caroline states, with a hint of panic in her voice. She must have hit him with her ring because it was seriously flowing down his chin.

"You don't say?" his muffled voice annoyed and his eyes angry, his fingers patting on his nostrils, like it could somehow stop the bleeding.

"Well, we should clean this up."

He wanted to spit something back, but he only groaned in complaint at the way her voice crackled. He could say that he could take care of himself, but she seemed so determined to make amends. He looked up at her, at her mortified features. She was quite adorable.

Caroline stayed calm as she took his arm and brought him to The Original's doors. "Can I use the bathroom?" she asked the doorman, who nodded as soon as he noticed the bleeding nose and the groaning man.

She patted a wet cloth on his nose, making sure to not hurt him, "Come on, you're a big boy," she tried to joke, earning a complaining groan from him, "I am sorry."

"You already said that, love," he answered, it was not such a big deal, and he felt emasculated enough.

Caroline rolled her eyes at his lack of politeness. She was simply trying to help and fix her mistake, so she kept cleaning his nose – a little more harshly. "All done."

She threw the cloth in the trash and cleaned her hand, smiling at his small "thanks, sweetheart."

"It's Caroline."

"What?"

"My name is Caroline."

The man looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "Caroline," he repeated.

Caroline. It suited her. Blonde hair, blue eyes, but a name a bit sharp on the edges. Klaus studied her face, like he could find out more from it now that he knew her name.

She took the time to ogle him back, ruffled hair, stubble, and dimples. Ok, this man was gorgeous. And he wore a white uniform. "You work here?"

Her face was familiar, now that he looked closer. He remembered seeing her when he was watching the patrons through the small window of the kitchen doors. There was nothing more fulfilling than detailing their expressions, and she had some of the most precious.

This Caroline was a hedonist, trying to find every pleasure life could give, if the way she closed her eyes when she took a bite was anything to go by. Like she could make each moment linger, or at least make it more personal.

He studied her with a faint frown, his eyes settling on hers, like he was searching for something. He seemed to find it as he gave a sudden smirk and stood up. He slowly outstretched his hand for her to take. "Let me show you something, Caroline."

He raised his eyebrows, as if he challenged her. Caroline looked at his hand – roughened by years of work it seemed – and then at him with suspicious small eyes.

"We're not leaving the place," he tried to reassure her, "I am not a serial killer."

"In that case." Caroline responded with a laugh and took his hand.

Klaus smiled when she wrapped her hand in his. He was right. She was a hedonist.

Her hand was so small in his, and so soft. But what amazed her was the warmth from it, like bread coming out of the oven.

He pushed the door to let her enter, and her eyes widened, taking it all in, her mouth dropping at the gigantic kitchen. Immaculate, chromed, neat and clean.

"I am not sure I am allowed to be here," she said, the end of her sentence sounding like a question.

He took her hand once again and led her to the back of the kitchen. "The boss won't say a thing, love."

Caroline wanted to add that her actual name was Caroline (again) but was too absorbed by the clarity of the place where her favorite dishes were created, so she restrained herself.

The man looked at her when she squeezed his hand unconsciously.

"Sit here, sweetheart."

"You're quite bossy," she joked.

He smirked. Yes he was. That was required in his job.

Caroline obeyed anyway, thinking that if he wanted to kill her, he would have done it already. She sat herself up on the kitchen counter.

The Brit took a step near her to stand between her legs. Caroline could feel her body heating up, cursing herself in a vague attempt to remember she actually had a boyfriend and this man was still a stranger. But her body heat took a drastic turn when he covered her eyes with a cloth.

"What..."

"Don't worry, love."

She'd closed her eyes when she was eating, and he knew that when one of your sense is shut off, the others are highlighted.

She heard a faint sound of a door opening, something gliding and the door closed once again.

But blind, what she was the most aware of was the smell. It enveloped her in delight and she couldn't restrain a light moan when the delicate perfume came to her nostrils. The smell of something just coming out of the oven. Warmth, coziness, somehow, as it reminded her of her childhood, on Sundays when her mum prepared a cake, and Caroline waited in front of the oven to look at the cake swelling.

"What is that?"

"Taste it."

She felt something near her mouth and recoiled slightly. "What is that?" she repeated.

"Trust me, Caroline."

"I don't even know your name?" she protested, her slight uneasiness making it sound like a question.

She heard him laugh, "It's Klaus," he answered.

Caroline hummed and bit the inside of her mouth in thought. What was happening was definitely not usual, yet, she could smell what he handed her, and she would be lying if she said it didn't make her mouth water. They were in a professional kitchen; he would not give her something awful to eat right?

She slightly opened her mouth, still not entirely trusting him.

Then, the sugary taste hit her taste buds and she melted, her shoulders lowering. Her back round, she chewed slowly to taste it correctly.

"That is delicious!" she whimpered.

"How does it taste?" he asked, a smile in his voice.

"I need another bite, then."

Klaus complied, returning to stand between her legs, close enough to hear her breathing and her slow chewing.

His other hand was on the countertop, but she just had to spread his fingers to brush her thighs, as if standing between them wasn't painful enough. She smelled like vanilla and strawberry, with a hint of poppycock, and he felt like a voyeur as he looked at her face when she couldn't see him. The light blush on her cheek and neck, the way her lips enveloped the spoon – it was magnificient.

Caroline, oblivious to his ogling, chewed silently for few seconds, enjoying how it excited her taste buds.

"It's really sweet. Sugar. And honey. It's kind of spongy, but in a good and sweet way. Gosh. It's good. But then there is this aftertaste. More bitter. Like, lemon?" She chewed again, trying to guess. "No it's sweeter, a mix between lemon, mandarin and grapefruit, with a little bit of ginger." She grabbed his hand blindly and dipped into the cake herself, and after some fails at actually touching it, she took another bigger bite. "I know. It's yuzu."

Klaus removed her blindfold with a smile. "I am impressed," he said, eyes wide. "Yuzu is not well known, and you really have amazing taste buds."

"Thank you." She self-consciously both smiled and frowned at the bizarre compliment. Still a compliment though, and she takes them all with class. "And what is it?"

"It's a Japanese specialty, a yuzu Castella cake," he took a step back from her, realizing he was really close. He put his hand on his head, in thought "I don't know if I am going to put it on the menu, though."

Silly. It tasted amazing, "you definitely should," she answered, taking another bite of it, "wait what?"

Her mouth full, she looked at him with wide eyes, realizing – "You are the chef!"

He looked at her with a big smile as she clearly became redder, her cheeks darkening and eyes huge. "Guilty."

"Oh my God."

She stood up suddenly, pacing back and forth.

And really, she doesn't quite know why she's reacting this way.

Well, He was the man behind her favorite dishes. Behind the freaking crème brulee.

"You fooled me." She pointed at him, frowning.

He raised his arms in a defensing manner, even though he couldn't hold his smirk, "well, you never asked, love."

"It's Caroline."

He smirked even wider at her fire, "Caroline."

She felt her cheeks reddening at the way her name rolled out of his tongue, like butter salted caramel.

He'd been so close to her.

She should have known as soon as she entered the kitchen, but Caroline had been so caught up in the moment she forgot to think and just enjoyed the cake her favorite chef fed her. Oh god. Her favorite chef fed her.

And she enjoyed it. Very much so.

"Relax, love."

He grabbed her shoulders, stroking in an attempt to soothe her. She'd been close to starting to ramble like a crazy person, but restrained herself.

Caroline looked at him, relaxing under the circular motion of his thumb on her arm.

Did she feel guilty? Guilty of enjoying it, of how close he'd been? Of how soothing his hands were, and how he could make her moan of delight with a piece of homemade bread?

He was frowning, in concentration – "What?" she asked.

He looked at her lips, and for a second, she thought he might kiss her. What would she do? Avoid it? Or answer?

His thumb brushed her lip, and she closed her eyes unconsciously, as he used his thumb to stroke her lower lip, a piece of cake on her mouth. The gentle caress was too much, and when she opened her eyes, she couldn't tear her gaze away from his concentrated face. "There. Perfect."

She smiled, forgetting for a second that she had a boyfriend, that she shouldn't be here, that she shouldn't have enjoyed this moment, that she shouldn't have wished for his lips on hers when she closed her eyes, as she caressed the corner of his mouth with her thumb to copy the gesture. "There. Perfect."

He smiled, showing his dimples. He hadn't eaten anything.